


Safe Harbor

by distantsun



Series: keep this going til judgment day [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Boat Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Identity Issues, Memory Loss, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Pretentious Literary References, Robot Feels, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, far harbor spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6980920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantsun/pseuds/distantsun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick's got a lot on his mind on the trip back from Far Harbor. They talk about it, and then they stop talking. (Gratuitous boat smut with bonus feels. Aka Bang Nick Valentine at Sea: The Fanfiction.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe Harbor

_There is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath._

_Herman Melville_

\--

Nick stared out over the water until Far Harbor was just a dark blur on the horizon. A few moments later he couldn’t see it at all.

He wondered how his synthetic body, with no real need for sleep, could feel so _exhausted._ Weary, to the bone. The machinery in his chest felt too tightly wound, his joints stiff and scraping. He felt old and broken and very, very tired.

The sea air was warm on his face. He watched the sun glitter on the waves, heard the gentle lapping of water against the boat's hull, tasted the salt-sweetness of the breeze, and thought: _will I remember this moment?_

Across the boat, Claire was adjusting the controls, the breeze catching her dark hair so that she had to stop and brush it from her eyes every so often. She glanced back at him and offered a questioning smile, eyebrows raised.

He wondered if he'd remember that smile. He wondered what it would replace, if he did. What he'd trade for it.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she said casually, joining him in leaning over the side of the boat.

“Not sure they're worth even that much.” He chuckled weakly, his voice sounding flat and tired even to him.

“Nick…” She laid a gentle hand on his arm.

“You did good, back there,” he said quickly, to deflect her concern-- he didn't think he could take it, seeing pity in her eyes right now. “It was a real mess, but you found a way, cleaned it up without anyone getting hurt. Don't know how you do it sometimes, partner.”

Her lips twitched into a half-smile. “Yeah, well. I have a bit of help.”

They stood in silence, watching the sun sink toward the horizon. Nick fished a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, lit it and inhaled. When he exhaled, it was nearly a sigh.

Claire plucked the smoke out of his fingers and took a slow drag, tangling her fingers with his as she returned it to him. “We gonna talk about it?”

“Hm?”

“You’re brooding, Nick. You’ve got _that_ look.”

 _A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea,_ he thought. Something old Nick read once, maybe.

He folded his arms on the railing and stared out at the sky. “It’s a lot to take in,” he said finally.

“Yeah.” He felt her arms slide around him from behind, her head resting on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, felt her warm and soft and breathing against his back.

Would he remember this, in twenty, fifty, another hundred years?

“He scared you,” she said, into his shoulder. “Didn’t he.”

“He’s a _murderer,_ ” Nick said, too sharply, too fast.

“He’s not you.” Her palm, cool and soft, pressed against his cheek. “And _you’re_ not _him._ ”

 _I don’t know what I am,_ he thought. _I don’t even know what I’ve lost._

“I could have been,” he said aloud. “If they hadn’t dropped Nick Valentine into my head. I would have been just like him.”

“You’re not that old cop, either,” she said, so fiercely he turned to look at her in surprise. Her green eyes were dark, her face set and serious. “You’re just _you_ , Nick, don’t you see? Whatever they thought they were making, they got _you_.”

“I don't know,” he said, voice hoarse, scraping like rusty gears, heavy with tears his body wasn't capable of shedding. His eyes fell shut and he reached for her, blindly, gathering the whole warm softness of her against him. “I'm _tired_ ,” he said into her neck.

“Oh… oh, _Nick._ ” She wrapped herself around him, holding him together with the deceptive strength in her slim arms. He focused on the rhythm of her hand rubbing gentle circles on his back. _Remember this. Remember._

He kissed her then, intact hand tipping her face up toward his. Something hot and desperate surged up in him, a need to lose himself in this, in her. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat, hands fisting hard into the fabric of his coat as she pressed herself closer.

“Are you--” she breathed when he finally let her come up for air, but he shook his head, fingers skimming over her hips under the long coat she wore.

“Please,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice. “I don't want to talk anymore.”

She understood-- she always understood. She pushed him back against the side of the boat, hard, lips hot and demanding on his. He released her just long enough to let his trenchcoat fall to the deck, his hands returning to her hips, pulling them flush against his as her deft fingers worked the buttons of his shirt. His processor raced, interpreting and committing to memory every detail of the moment, every tiny bit of sensory data that made up the experience of her body against his.

Back pressed to the wall of the small boat, he slid down, pulling her with him, to the deck. He buried his face into her neck, nipping at the spot just above her collarbone that he knew would make her stiffen and whimper and drive her hips down against his. He could not forget this. He _would not_ forget this.

There was too much between them. His hands shaking, he helped her undress, helped her undress him, loosening his tie and tossing it aside, pulling her top over her head to reveal an oasis of soft pale skin that he couldn't resist trailing his fingers over. Her eyes were hungry as they swept over his patchwork chest, and he felt the initial pang of shame and fear he still felt whenever he bared himself to her dissolve.

They stilled in each other's arms for a moment, eyes locked. She was breathing hard, her chest shifting invitingly with every breath in ways that set something hot and tight to coiling in his stomach, positive feedback and firing electricity doing a remarkable job of simulating hormones and base human instinct.

“You're so goddamn beautiful,” he said roughly, unable to keep himself from touching her, from pressing his lips to the unbearably soft valley between her breasts. Her back arched and she made delicious little low, hoarse sounds that he filed carefully away in his mind.

 _Remember this. Remember everything._ Someday, when he was alone, when she was gone--

 _No._ He would not think of that, not now. Carefully he guided her down onto her back, his mouth trailing down her stomach, feeling her muscles tighten under his lips. She made a sound of protest, something about selfishness and what he needed, that dropped sharply off into a wordless cry when his tongue teased high up on her inner thigh.

He lost himself in the taste of her, his careful probing explorations giving way to a rough and rhythmic lapping. Her thighs were tight and tense against the side of his head, her whole body taut and trembling, and when he paused to look up at her, her head was thrown back and she was staring up at the endless clear blue sky above them.

His tongue slid into her again, swirling lightly around the hot sensitive bud that made her hips snap upward and desperate incoherent cries spill from her lips. _God,_ he thought, in awe and arousal. _For me._ It was still so hard to believe, but here she was under him, so close to breaking. So _his. Always,_ he told himself firmly. _If nothing else. This always was._

“Come on, sweetheart,” he paused to say, knowing his low vibrating voice would push her closer. She lifted her head to look at him with wild, unfocused eyes, and her hand clutched at his neck. “God, you taste so good. Want to feel you come for me.”

“Oh God-- _Nick_ ,” she nearly screamed, as his mouth returned to her heat. A few tight, focused circles of his tongue around her clit and then she _was_ screaming, the sea air swallowing up her cries as she came apart, spasming against his mouth. She fell limp to the deck, exhausted, but even then it took him a little while to let up, tormenting her with long, slow licks along her oversensitive sex until she whimpered a laugh and weakly pushed him away.

He lay beside her while she caught her breath, lazily stroking her side, pressing gentle kisses to the back of her neck. Her hair smelled faintly of the sea. The sway of the boat, the sound of the waves lulled him and he felt his processes slow.

Claire shifted beside him, bringing him back to full attention. He opened his eyes; she lay facing him, lovely and flushed, reaching out to walk her fingers along the seam in his skin where his collarbone would be. Sensors registered the pressure and texture and motion of her fingertips, sending signals sparking through his body, causing a cascade of feedback. He shivered.

“I don't need--” he began.

She silenced him with a look. “Yes, you _do.”_

 _Like a sailor knows the open sea,_ he thought, and lay back.

He wasn't really sure how it worked. It shouldn't have. He was lacking a lot that mattered when it came to this sort of thing. But her lips were soft and hot on his skin, her weight satisfying on his hips, and some combination of sensory data, memory and emotion carried him through.

He arched under her, lips spilling soft groans laced with distortion as his system became overwhelmed. His temperature spiked, coolant rushing hard and fast to counter it. He was breaking, malfunctioning, operating well outside the constraints of his warranty. He'd never felt so human.

His hands, unsteady, tangled in her hair and he moaned out praise and encouragement as her mouth and hands and the pressure of her body coaxed him to a precipice. It was hard to think around the flood of pleasure, but some traitorous part of his processor murmured _remember, remember,_ and made him grip her nearly hard enough to bruise, pulling her as close as possible, as if he could hold on to her memory that way.

“Nick,” she breathed, lips gently feathering along the tear in his neck-- _how did it get there? did he remember?--_ fingers curling hard around the edge of the seams that ran around his sides in that way that made his sensors overload and turned the data streaming to his processor into deliciously nonsensical white noise.

“I’m right here,” she said, because she _knew_ , and swallowed his answering cry with a hard kiss, and he let himself stop thinking then.

When he cooled down enough to come back online, she was smiling down at him, lazily tracing patterns on his chest. He watched her languid movements, messy hair and flushed skin and bright green eyes lit by the setting sun, long enough for her to laugh and bite her lip. “ _What?_ ”

“Just remembering,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> The boat drove itself. I had to.
> 
> (We'll, uh, pretend Kasumi wanted to stay in Acadia for a few days to say her farewells, and they were going back for her later. Let's not traumatize the sheltered 19-year-old.)
> 
> I don't know why I thought my porn needed not one but _two_ literary quotes/references. Just how I do.


End file.
